Boredom
by mst3kaddict
Summary: Sherlock is bored. Hmm, what can John do? This is my first attempt at smutty goodness, so please forgive any mistakes. For the lovely Ayo (takemyloveinwriting).


White light streamed through the window shades, and John whistled tunelessly at his desk, filing a patient report. His mobile rang out a text alert. He glanced across the screen.

Home. John. Now. –SH

John rolled his eyes and slowly tapped out a reply.

Not now, Sherlock. I'm at work. What do you need anyway? –JW

Sherlock's reply zipped back quickly.

Bored. –SH

John understood immediately. It was nearing the end of his shift anyway, and no patients were scheduled until tomorrow. Just some cleaning to do. He stretched in his chair before packing his things hurriedly. He nodded cordially to Sarah on his way out.

"Home already?" she asked conversationally.

"Ah-yes. Sherlock's—something's come up." John averted his eyes and an explanation.

Sarah assumed he meant a new case (hopefully). "Oh. Have fun," she smiled after him.

He couldn't help but grin, adjusting his jacket. "I will."

Sherlock had donned three nicotine patches, his bathrobe, and an enduring expression of boredom throughout the arduous day. He slumped in his chair, awaiting a reply from John. Surely he understood the meaning of 'bored'?

He sprang to his feet and huffed to the fridge, opening it and examining his latest experiment, cellular decay in a human heart. No change in two hours.

Leaping over the coffee table, he dove for his chair, curling into a small ball and lacing his fingers. Now to wait for John.

Building after building flew past John's window in the cab, bleeding together and morphing into a shapeless landscape of greys, browns, reds. He blankly looked out at it, not seeing London, but Sherlock. The cab swung onto familiar territory. Baker Street.

He paid the cabbie and opened the door to 221B.

Sherlock's expert ears immediately picked up the sounds of John's arrival. The scuffling of his shoes, his unmistakable grunt as he started up the stairs, his muffled cough stifled in his jacket. Despite his excitement, Sherlock kept himself contained in the chair.

At last, the door opened and John sauntered through. Before he was aware of what was happening, Sherlock was in his face. He inhaled John's scent, burying his face in his jumper.

"Hello, there," John said wryly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and pulling him closer, dropping his work bag to the floor in anticipation. He walked forward, Sherlock running his hands through his hair, prickling in excitement.

Sherlock looked down, kissing first John's forehead, down his nose, and then his lips, his hands subconsciously working on the knot in John's tie. John slipped the bathrobe from Sherlock's thin shoulders, using his tongue to reclaim the mouth that he had been missing from for so long.

A small grunt escaped Sherlock's throat as the tie fell to the ground and he fumbled with John's shirt buttons.

They worked their way further into the room, clothes falling to the ground. John kicked his shoes away and pulled Sherlock's trousers down with desperate vigor. Sherlock bit the bottom of John's lip, working away his shirt and feeling the warmth of John's chest against his own body.

John shuddered and closed his eyes. Sherlock kissed his chest, kneeling and kissing until he reached John's waist. He exhaled through his mouth, unbuckling John's belt and then unbuttoning his work trousers, pulling them hungrily to the ground. John knelt and joined Sherlock on the floor.

Their raspy breath filled the silence as Sherlock pushed John down and ran his tongue around his ear, down his face, and around his chin. John's eyes were shut tight in pleasure, and his mouth hung open, breathing heavily.

Sherlock pulled down and smiled at John's bright red underwear, exposing his erection. John moaned and his hips rose, reaching towards Sherlock.

Sherlock lifted John and began to work, hands expertly running the length of his body, leaving a tingle in his wake. John could feel Sherlock's ribcage, his stomach, his thighs, and him, moving inside of him. He raised his legs slightly, giving Sherlock easier access to his behind. Sherlock's arm reached for John's erection, feeling it and beginning to pump with his hand, making John bite his lip to stop from alerting passersby.

They moved together in unison, short grunts escaping John's clenched teeth, and sighs of satisfaction emitting from Sherlock.

John could feel Sherlock's breath rising and falling with every pump of his hips, and they both gasped as they melted and became one.

John's cheeks were tinged with red as Sherlock collapsed, damp with sweat, and they sighed breathlessly.

"Bored?" John asked when he had regained some of his composure.

"Considerably less so."


End file.
